


Mourning

by RobinPlaysTrumpet15



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, Pain, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 07:32:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinPlaysTrumpet15/pseuds/RobinPlaysTrumpet15
Summary: Dick, Bruce, and Alfred deal with Jason's death.





	Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys...
> 
> So, the reason that this has been written is mostly because writing is one of my coping mechanisms. My great uncle died earlier this afternoon, and I just found out a few hours ago, and I am... not okay.
> 
> This was born out of my own emotional pain.
> 
> Anyway, I hope that you guys enjoy this story.

Dick’s heart stopped. Not literally, but it did actually skip a beat. It was weird for there to be stillness in his chest, even just for a second. He’d only ever really felt that two other times in his life. The first, when he was eight years old and his parents had fallen from the trapeze. The second, the first time he’d fallen from the ledge of a building and forgotten what to do.

And now, the third time.

When he’d been told Jason was dead.

“What?” Dick choked out. He was fighting, actually fighting himself, to talk normally. His throat was closing rapidly, his eyes stinging. Dick could feel himself begin to tremble, starting to close into himself.

“He’s dead, Dick,” Bruce said. His voice was steady, tone blank. Like he was a robot. Like he didn’t actually feel what was happening around him.

And Dick just couldn’t process anything anymore. He and Bruce hadn’t been on good terms recently, and hadn’t really spoken much at all. Dick still dropped by the manor to see Jason, help him with homework, hang out with him. He acted the role of a good big brother, which he was happy to do, even if he hadn’t been happy with their “father”. So when Bruce had called him, asked him to drop by the cave, Dick had been suspicious.

“The funeral will be tomorrow,” Bruce said, the same flat tone to his voice.

Dick’s eyes drifted off to a remote corner of his vision, staring at nothing as the dark image of shadows blurred with tears.

He turned sharply and headed for the elevator. He’d text Bruce later, but right now… he just could not handle this right now. He couldn’t handle Bruce’s tone, he couldn’t handle people, he couldn’t handle sound at all.

Dick just wanted the world to stop spinning. Let the whole earth pause for a few hours, freeze the world and all its people and cars and phones and games. Let him have silence, knowing he wasn’t missing anything he should be at.

So he found himself walking briskly through the manor, passing by Alfred and not saying a word. He left through the front door, nearly flew down the front stairs and climbed into his car.

The drive to Bludhaven wasn’t technically long, but it wasn’t short. In the time it took for him to drive home to his apartment, he didn’t cry. He didn’t hyperventilate, he didn’t break down. He was perfectly calm, and distantly, he wondered if there was something wrong with him that he’d just found out his brother was dead, and he was just calmly driving home, if not a little bit above the speed limit.

At home, Dick walked up the stairs to the penthouse. It wasn’t his best idea ever, but he wanted to feel his body moving, doing some repetitive motion.

But then he was in the apartment, the door shut firmly behind him. Dick walked briskly down the hallway, into his bedroom, and then threw himself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

And finally, _finally_ , Dick cried. At first, the tears came slowly as he felt his chest concave painfully before taking a quick, deep breath, and straight sobbing. A choked, high sob ripped out of his throat, filling the silence of his bedroom. Dick’s hand came up to clap firmly over his mouth, embarrassed by the sound even though there was no one there to hear it.

But after that, the tears flowed quickly, and no matter what Dick did, they just wouldn’t stop. His cheeks were soaked and there were tears in his hair that had dripped down his temples and behind his ears. He lost track of time, crying harder and realizing that the agonized scream he’d just heard had come from himself.

*

Bruce hadn’t eaten in… he wasn’t sure anymore. But he knew that he hadn’t slept in longer. He was too busy.

He had to find Joker.

That clown would die for what he’d done. And Bruce would be the one to kill him.

Screw the rules. That psycho had killed a fifteen year old boy who had finally had a chance. He’d finally caught a break and could have had a bright future. But it had been taken.

And Batman- no, _Bruce_ would make him pay.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, announcing his arrival in the cave again. “You must eat something, and you must go to sleep.”

“Can’t,” Bruce muttered. “Haven’t found him yet.”

“Master Bruce, this is not healthy!” Alfred implored the younger man. “You won’t get anything done if you do not take care of yourself.”

Bruce continued typing, eyes glued to the large computer screens in front of him. “I’ll lose time…”

“What you’ll do is lose your mind-”

“Get out,” Bruce said.

Alfred sighed. “Please-”

“GET OUT!” Bruce roared, whipping around in his chair and standing harshly. “I WILL FIND HIM AND I WILL MAKE HIM PAY!”

Alfred took a step back, although he was used to this sort of thing. Bruce did not cry like others might. He didn’t get melancholy or sad.

No, Bruce got angry.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred started softly.

“HE WAS FIFTEEN, ALFRED!” Bruce yelled. “He was fifteen years old and I took him out on those streets! It’s my fault he’s dead, and there’s nothing I can do to make it right!”

Alfred didn’t respond. Silence just hung in the large space around them.

When finally it had been minutes where neither of them said anything, Bruce sighed and slumped back into his seat.

“The Joker will die.”

*

Alfred sat down at the dining room table with a cup of tea and a photo album. He’d put it together himself, and kept up with it regularly. He’d started it years ago, when Dick was just eight years old, some time before Robin had ever come into being.

But those were not the pictures he was interested in.

He wanted the pictures of a different boy, one who had been here for much too short a time. He was four years younger than Dick, and at the age of fifteen was already bigger than his predecessor had been at that age. He had freckles along the bridge of his nose and further back, high on his cheeks. His eyes were gray, like steel, but soft with a warm smile that he showed off easily. He was born on August 16th, and he liked to read. He was a good cook, and often helped Alfred bake in the afternoons when he came home from school.

Alfred didn’t realize the tears had slipped down his cheeks until one landed on the page before him, on the corner of a picture of Jason Peter Todd, smiling brightly, his arms hooked around his adopted older brother’s shoulders. Alfred remembered taking this picture. It had been at the gala where Bruce had introduced Jason to the world, announced that he had adopted a second son.

Jason had looked adorable, not quite fourteen years old yet, wearing a black suit with a red tie that made him look so handsome. Dick had been there too, if only for the public’s sake, to appear as the golden child, the perfect first son of Bruce Wayne, the supportive new older brother.

Dick and Jason had really gotten on well together, but this gala had been the first of many good experiences between the two.

The amount of people and questions had gotten to Jason quickly, leaving him frustrated and insecure. Dick had come to the rescue, pulling him away from whatever group of people had been bombarding the young teen with unwanted conversation. They’d ended up in the middle of people who were dancing, slow music playing in the background.

Dick had probably said something about teaching Jason to dance, since he’d need the skill in future events. When Alfred had come across them, he’d found this scene playing out. Dick all but bending down, his arms wrapped loosely around Jason’s upper back, Jason’s arms tight around his neck. They were laughing, nearly doubled over about something that one of them might have said or done.

And Alfred couldn’t resist. He had to have a picture of it.

So now he stared at it, one hand covering his mouth as he replayed the memory over and over in his head. Their eyes were squeezed closed, the biggest smiles on their faces. He could almost hear the laughter, the longer he thought. Jason’s giggles inched painfully between his ribs, into his chest, settling in his heart.

Would he forget that laugh now? Would he forget the way Jason would talk? The way he’d run down the stairs and nearly fall at the bottom before finding his balance on his tip toes and running forward with his momentum?

And then Alfred had buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, crying as quietly as he could. The boy he had all but raised was downstairs, beneath the manor, running himself ragged to catch a psycho. The boy who was essentially his grandson was off in another city, probably broken into tiny, irreparable pieces. And the other, the one who’d been here for just a year and a half… he was dead.

Gone.

Missing.

Taken.

And Alfred had hoped he’d never have to feel this way again.

But then again, he prepared himself for this every night. Every time Bruce and Dick went out into the world, costumed as Batman and Nightwing, knowing that one day…

They wouldn’t come back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you found any mistakes, please let me know so I can go in and fix them. Other than that, let me know what you think! Thanks!


End file.
